


Towards Zero

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Remix, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Iruka stares death in the face, he thinks back to what he regrets the most. (A remix, posted for the KakaIru Winter Fest 2015). Thank you to Riley for being an awesome beta reader!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towards Zero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radkoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radkoko/gifts).
  * Inspired by [One Regret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435431) by [radkoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radkoko/pseuds/radkoko). 



It reminds him of the night the Kyuubi attacked. The screaming, the fear, the sounds of buildings falling, of people crying, of despair thick in the air---it reminds him of the way he felt helpless in the face of the sure destruction of their village. Beside him, he hears the crack of cement. On instinct, he darts out of the way, and he can hear the walls crumble where he once stood. He tries not to look back. He can’t afford to. Not anymore.

 He scans the streets for children, and he finds them, either screaming or crying or huddled alone, or being rushed along with frantic parents, or scrambling for safety on their own. He helps who he can, because helping is all he can do. Today shouldn’t be as horrific an event as he feels it is---or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. This is part of their lives as shinobi. This is the inevitable. This is Alternative C after Alternatives A and B, where he goes on a mission and dies the next day, or where the Academy is under attack by some bizarre, unpleasant adversary with a dislike for children. This is Alternative C of how he dies, and of how many others around him will die---the third on a long list of possibilities that they never had the luxury of dismissing, not for a single minute. This is their world. This is how they lived. He thinks that he should’ve known better than to expect some kind of heavenly miracle in the wake of his prayers, but he prays anyway. He wonders if anyone’s listening.

 Fifty feet away, a shinobi lies listless in the rubble. His finger twitches, and Iruka breathes a sudden sigh of relief. It’s the first injured person he’s seen that still breathes on his own, and he’ll be damned if he lets him die on his watch. When he turns him over, he tries to recall his name. He can’t. He gives up.

 “Hey,” Iruka says, slinging the man’s arm around his shoulder, “let’s get you out of here. It’s going to be fine. You’ll be alright.” When he gets no response, he repeats himself a few more times, and readies himself for a chakra-boosted jump to the nearest rooftop.

 It’s only when he settles on one---just one building over, sturdy, no broken tiles---that Pein arrives, every bit as foreboding as he sounded in the rumours. Iruka looks up, and the frightening eyes draw him in immediately; they stare at him, piercing, and Iruka feels just a little dizzy with fear. He attributes it to the Rinnegan---the rings and rings and rings that just suck you in against your will. It takes some effort to register what Pein is saying, but when he does, Iruka feels something churn in his stomach as though warning him of the worst to come.

 “Where is the jinchuuriki?” Pein asks in a tone so ashy, so cold, that Iruka wonders whether he’s actually a person or whether he’s just a---a puppet, a drone, doing someone else’s bidding.

 Iruka stares, frozen. No amount of wiggling can get him out of this: either he says something, or he dies. Or he says something and he dies anyway. The shinobi at his side stirs, and Iruka remembers why he’d come here in the first place. If this is how he goes, then he’ll go gladly. A sacrifice to protect Naruto isn’t much of a sacrifice at all, really; just like he’d readied himself for death at Mizuki’s hands all those years ago, he readies himself for death again. It can come for him now.

  _“I’m not telling you anything.”_

 He sees the rod, black steel glinting in the sunlight, and suddenly, he can’t move. But maybe that’s alright. Maybe this is how it was always meant to end. Maybe it’ll be quick, and he won’t think of anything; maybe he’ll wake up again in another life, another time, another place---with his parents, or alone, or somewhere in-between, happy and carefree and light. He wouldn’t regret dying now, he thinks. He’s had a good life---a good job, his own niche in the world, a family he’s made for himself… In the end, he’s… happy. Happy that he did what he could, happy that he died a man proud of what he’s accomplished. And if he did wish for one thing, one more moment, one more chance…

* * *

_“You’re going to be late.”_

_“And whose fault is that, exactly?”_

 Kakashi chuckles, and doesn’t move from the bed. He probably can’t, Iruka thinks, with the sheets as tangled as they are, with Kakashi’s arms around Iruka’s waist, with Iruka’s legs wrapped cosily around Kakashi’s.

  _“Staff meeting today?”_ Kakashi asks, burying his face against Iruka’s shoulder until the harsh light from outside couldn’t reach him.

  _“Yeah,”_ Iruka replies, _“until six. Dinner?”_

 He always asks, but he knows he doesn’t have to. It’s been six months since Kakashi had relented, caving to his inner struggle, and had signed the documents alerting the offices of his change of address. Outside the bedroom door, Iruka hears three distinct sets of pattering around the living room, and wonders what the dogs are up to.

  _“I’ll pick you up. I don’t have a mission today, anyway.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Iruka murmurs, turning his head so that it leans against the top of Kakashi’s own, silvery hair tickling his cheek. _“Walking me home, are you?”_ When he laughs, he feels Kakashi tighten his hold around him. It’s muffled, soft against his collarbone, but he thinks he hears Kakashi say, _‘I just want to be with you.’_

* * *

 It’s sunset when he gets out, and he sees Kakashi waiting for him at the Academy gates. He smiles, waves, and suppresses a laugh when Kakashi tries to wave back---only to have his hand caught eagerly by one of the girls surrounding him in the crowd of six-year-olds. A chorus of, _‘Are you waiting for Iruka-sensei?’_ , and _‘Do you really know a thousand techniques?’,_ and _‘Can you teach me a trick?’_ overlap each other until it’s all just white noise of children’s excited blabbering, and Kakashi looks more drained than he does after the most gruelling mission. Iruka stops three feet away, patiently waiting for the excitement to die down.

  _“Alright,”_ he says, _“run along. It’s late. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”_ A collective whine sounds, and Iruka laughs out loud, this time. _“You can talk to Kakashi-sensei another day. If you’re good, he might even drop by for a demonstration lesson.”_ It’s perfect, the way Kakashi manages to look thoroughly appalled even through the fabric of his mask. Iruka only wishes he could’ve taken a picture.

 " _…You got their hopes up,”_ Kakashi says when the children are out of sight.

 “ _One demonstration won’t hurt,”_ Iruka replies, smiling. _“Just for one lesson. They’ll enjoy it. It’ll be fun.”_

 Kakashi looks thoughtful, staring idly at the shrubbery lining the streets, and Iruka feels Kakashi’s little finger hook casually around his own. He locks their fingers together, squeezing down on Kakashi’s hand in silence. Kakashi reciprocates the touch, walking an inch closer to Iruka than he would with anyone else.

  _“Fine,”_ he says. Iruka knows that he’s relenting for his sake---that it’s a favour for him, because he asked, because it’s his class and his lesson---and he thinks to himself that theirs is a happiness not many in their professions can afford.

  _“Thank you,”_ he replies. He’s still smiling, and when Kakashi looks over, he spots that tell-tale glint in Kakashi’s eye that makes Iruka’s stomach flutter in the way he thought only young girls felt about their first loves, or whatever it was he read in books. He tugs once on Kakashi’s hand and adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder; he opens his mouth to say something when a sing-song trio chimes in:

  ** _“Iruka-sensei and Kakashi-sensei, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s---“_**

  _“Hey! I’ll assign all three of you chalkboard duty for a week, starting at six in the morning!”_

* * *

_“Did you like the fish?”_

 Kakashi is silent for a minute. Then another. Then another. Iruka wonders if he’s even listening. Kakashi turns a page of his book and says, _“Yeah. It was good.”_

 Iruka smiles at that, settles against the cushions, and tucks his feet under the edge of the blanket spread haphazardly across the couch. Kakashi moves, shifting his arm until it’s around Iruka, and continues his reading.

  _“I was thinking,”_ Iruka says, just as Shiba jumps onto the couch to curl at his feet, _“maybe we could go out tomorrow. It’s the weekend. We could have a picnic.”_

 Kakashi hums, turns his page, and says nothing. It’s as much of a ‘yes’ as he ever really gets from him, and it’s more than enough for Iruka. He’d long since learned to understand the finer qualities of Kakashi’s communication habits---something he considered an amusing privilege only he knew about.

  _“We could invite Naruto,”_ he suggests. _“And Sakura, if she’s not busy at the hospital.”_

 Pakkun is asleep, half under the coffee table, and Bull paws at his nose. Kakashi doesn’t say much, but he pauses his reading enough to dip his head against Iruka’s, touching his nose to the crown of Iruka’s head.

 “ _I’ll make some onigiri,”_ Iruka decides, content.

* * *

 

 Iruka falls back against the pillows with a huff, panting, red-faced, dazed. Kakashi follows, half-collapsing beside him, exhaling a controlled breath every couple seconds. Their hands meet below the sheets, and Iruka holds on with a breathy laugh.

 The fan whirs dutifully above them. Outside, the moon is just bright enough to outline Kakashi’s hair on the sheets, the curve of his shoulder, his side, his hip.

  _“I love you,”_ Iruka says suddenly, staring sleepily at the ceiling _. “I want you to know that.”_

 Kakashi stills, his breathing slowing to something inaudible. Iruka closes his eyes, feeling the lingering dregs of their intimacy leave him numb and content. If he woke early enough, maybe he’d be able to make more than a few onigiri for that picnic. Maybe he’d pack some of those prawn crackers that Kakashi liked, and throw in some of that salad that Sakura enjoyed… Maybe he’d make some lemonade for Naruto, and grab the football for that friendly match that the boy had been begging for without end. But right now, all he can think about is how cool the breeze from the fan feels on his skin, how comfortable it is to have Kakashi’s arm around his waist, how nice it is to feel Kakashi’s hair tickle his shoulder.

 _“I know,”_ Kakashi says. His thumb drags a circle around Iruka’s hip, and he says nothing more.

* * *

 The black metal moves forward, and Iruka stills for it. The shinobi at his side loosens his grip on Iruka’s sleeve, and his hand falls limp to the floor. In a flash, Kakashi is before him shielding him from Pein’s attack with one hand sturdy on the rod.

Kakashi doesn’t look at him when he says, “Get out of here. Leave this to me.”

Iruka recognizes his tone and realizes that it’s an order, not a suggestion. Kakashi speaks to him as his senior, as the elite jounin that he is, and Iruka obeys as any chuunin should. With the wounded shinobi hoisted sturdy, Iruka flees the scene. He shouldn’t look back. He knows that. There’s no time left now with the wounded around him, with the crumbled buildings and screaming civilians. He shouldn’t look back, but he does.

_Good luck, Kakashi._

_I wish we had more time._

* * *

 The hospital has the same sterile, unpleasant odour to it that Iruka never quite got used to. He can’t think of how it must be to work here the way Sakura does. Maybe she’s used to it. Or maybe it’s just that when someone comes in, bleeding, near death, the smell of the air isn’t what you think about.

“Did I wake you?” Iruka asks quietly. The chair he’s sitting in is uncomfortable. Cold steel presses against his skin, chilling him right through the fabric of his uniform. Kakashi looks over, stares, and releases an almost unnoticeable sigh. Iruka can’t tell whether it’s one of relief or of annoyance. He doesn’t ask.

“No,” Kakashi replies. 

There’s no need for Iruka to say that he’s read the file, that he knows what happened. There’s no need for Kakashi to say that it’s alright, even though anyone would expect him to. Iruka looks haggard---more so than Kakashi does---and it’s an unusual sight considering which of them escaped death by a hair’s width and which of them didn’t escape at all. Kakashi moves his fingers, curling and uncurling them into and away from his palm, and Iruka takes the hint. Their hands feel warmer together, and their fingers interlace as comfortably as they always have.

“Do you have any regrets?” Kakashi asks, and Iruka looks up suddenly, surprised.

Iruka thinks back, remembering the way he felt kneeling before Pein, ready for death. He’d accepted it then---that he’d die that day. He’d thought that it was fine, that his life had been more than plainly satisfactory, that he’d ticked all the boxes that measured personal successes, that they’d outweighed the ones measuring failure… But that didn’t stop the niggling feeling in his mind that surfaced seconds before the end.

“I think so,” Iruka says, brows creasing just a little. Kakashi nods once, understanding, and Iruka squeezes down around his fingers. “I wished that… I had more time with you. But I know that really, I can’t hold onto that every time. Because there’ll be another moment like that, someday. For both of us. There will always be another. And what we have… I think it’s enough that we have it in the first place. There will never be enough time---not for me, at least. So… I’ll just need to focus on today. Always… just on today. Just the present. That way… I’ll never miss a moment as it happens. And if there’s no future tomorrow… that’ll be alright.”

 Outside the room, a trolly rattles as a nurse pushes it down the hallway. Iruka can hear the click of her heels against the tile, harsh and staccato, _clack, clack, clack._

 “Yeah,” Kakashi says, rubbing his thumb over Iruka’s. “It’ll be alright.”


End file.
